


Autumn At My Window

by TheCellarDoor



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Louis' POV, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Roommates, Scent Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but they're both versatile, tipsy harry at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCellarDoor/pseuds/TheCellarDoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'. </p>
<p>Featuring a lot of pining, Louis' addiction to Harry's scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon compliant because they're both in 1D but also an AU because in no universe can their matching tattoos and actions be explained as bro-pal platonic, logic and science says so therefore it's true. Also, there's zero mention of any stunts in this because NOT IN MY HOUSE, PAL. The timing is around autumn 2015 because I said so and I don't particularly care if they were on the moon during that time. I do what I want, I'm a rebel.
> 
> A big, huge, massive thanks to [Maëlys](http://yourssincerelylarry.tumblr.com/), without whom I wouldn't have ever gotten this from a 2k WIP to a completed fic. She's the funniest and the most encouraging and she kicks ass.
> 
> And [Jessi](http://jessimond.tumblr.com/) and [Megan](http://i-know-more-than-i-should.tumblr.com/), you're the best, helping me out and editing this for me on such short notice, thank you so much. They're incredible and anything dodgy you see is all on me!!
> 
> Title inspired by Pablo Neruda.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me and the story is really just a figment of my own imagination. :)))

It was a Saturday night and Louis was having a crisis. Like most of Louis’ internal freak-outs, Harry was directly involved without even knowing about it. 

As Louis padded up the stairs to Harry's empty loft bedroom — dressed in nothing but his boxers and fluffy socks with a hole on his big toe — Louis finally let himself acknowledge that he'd lost it.

It had been a long time coming.

“I’m a creep,” he whispered to no one. 

It didn’t stop him from dropping his phone on Harry’s bed, from eyeing the sweater discarded on the edge of it. Louis’ fingers itched to pick it off the white-blue covers. The phone charger he’d told himself he needed to borrow was long forgotten, though he hadn’t really needed it in the first place.

_Just leave._

They’d been best friends for nearly five years. He still remembered the way they’d been at the beginning, so clingy and tactile, lips brushing on accident in those X Factor bunk beds as they’d cuddled in the dark.

They’d always been close.

And yet, here Louis was, kneeling down on the hardwood floor because he was too damn weak, missing Harry even though he'd left a little under an hour ago.

He’d spent a lot of time missing Harry these past few months, feeling like there was a strange kind of distance between them that would keep on growing unless he figured out how to stop it. It terrified the fuck out of him.

Maybe that was why he kept doing this.

_Stop making excuses._

He brushed his fingertips over the soft wool of Harry’s lavender sweater, shame curling in the bottom of his stomach.

If Harry could see him now, he’d have regretted sharing this house with Louis despite everyone telling them they shouldn’t.

Their management had encouraged them to branch out and live separately ever since the rumours had spun out of control three years ago and Louis had just sat in that meeting, rooted to his chair, young and scared but defiant. 

He remembered that for a moment he’d been worried Harry would agree. He should have known better because Harry had just frowned, his foot bumping into Louis’ under the table as he’d said, “That’s dumb. Who cares what people think?” 

But then he’d added, “It’s not like we’re actually together," and Louis' heart had sunk down to his heels, his smile more like a grimace as he'd nodded, because no.

They weren’t.

They’d come close more than once but they’d just never… something always seemed to stop them. Maybe they’d never meant to be anything more than this, stuck in a limbo of too close but not close enough.

Louis lifted the sweater, swallowing hard. He knew what he was doing was inexcusably creepy, but he brought it up to his face anyway. Breathed in.

Sweet. Always something sweet and fresh about the way Harry smelled, like flowers and rain-soaked earth and home.

It made Louis want to tuck himself around Harry’s body when they cuddled, made him want to turn Harry around as he cooked them English breakfast in the morning and thank him with a kiss that lingered. He just wanted to freely watch Harry _exist_ without having to control the way it made his heart thud against his ribs. 

It was either sad or embarrassing. Probably both.

While Harry was out and about, hanging out with his other friends and sweeping nightclubs like any other normal twenty-one-year-old during a few days off, Louis was sitting on the floor of Harry’s bedroom with his face buried in Harry’s sweater. 

He wished he could say it was the first time he’d done it. Maybe one of these days he’d end up on _Strange Addictions_ , exposed for the deviant he was like the people who ate couch stuffing. It would serve him right.

“Fuck, I’ve lost it.”

He laughed into the fabric, eyes burning and fingers clenching in the soft wool because he was so painfully in love he bloody missed Harry whenever they weren’t touching.

“I might not come home tonight. I’ll text you so you don’t worry,” Harry had told him just before he’d left, all dimpled smile and bright eyes and soft lingering lips as he’d kissed Louis’ temple.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” Harry had asked as he’d slipped into his tailored black coat, fluffy curls brushing over his shoulders, one foot already out the door.

“No,” Louis had said and watched Harry hover in the doorway. He felt hundreds of miles away. Unsure how he fit in Harry’s space anymore, feeling like he’d only be intruding. “You go have fun. I’ll catch up on some telly, maybe play Fifa for a bit. I’m knackered.”

“Don’t watch _Gogglebox_ without me,” Harry had said, keys jingling in his hand.

Louis had promised he wouldn’t and mouthed _have a good time_ , swallowing the _please stay._

He wasn’t clingy, would never want to be the kind of person who made Harry miss out on having fun or guilt him into keeping Louis company.

He’d just been feeling a little off lately. It was all right. He just needed a breather, sort his head out, and most importantly, stop smelling Harry’s worn clothing when he wasn’t home.

He let the sweater pool in his lap, wishing he had more self-control.

The phone Louis had dropped on Harry’s bed let out a series of pings. 

Louis started, flushing guiltily as though someone had caught him in the act, walked in on him breathing in the ghost of Harry's scent because he was feeling lonely.

He grabbed the phone.

_‘Louuuuuu’_

_‘m tipsy’_

_‘Nick sucks at wingmanning’_

_‘I miss you’_

Louis shouldn’t have been jealous. He had no reason to be. Yet the flames of it licked over his skin as he imagined some stranger with their hands all over Harry, dipping under silky fabric of his shirt to glide over bare, even silkier skin, getting Harry to want them, to kiss them and touch them back.

Louis thumbed over the hem of the sweater and pulled it slowly over his head because it made him feel closer to Harry. The fabric turned his hair static-y. 

Harry liked it best when Louis’ hair was soft.

_‘Be safe,’_ he typed back and got up to his feet, wobbling as if he was the tipsy one. 

He caught his reflection from the corner of his eye in Harry’s floor length mirror. He paused, turning his body to look at himself standing there, wrapped up in Harry’s worn sweater with the hem falling down mid-thigh and sleeves slipping over his hands. The collar was big enough to bare his collarbones.

It was a good thing Harry wasn’t here to see him like this. 

He quickly turned away from the sight, ashamed but too weak to take the sweater off.

The next text message he got was a picture of Harry’s nostrils.

With a begrudging smile, Louis sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed, thinking _I love you so fucking much._

He shuffled up to the headboard and settled in because Harry’s bed had always been comfier, even if they'd bought their mattresses at the same place.

The covers smelled just like Harry.

Louis turned his face into Harry’s pillows, legs tangled up in the duvet and eyes falling shut because Louis had already accepted that he was a pathetic excuse of a human being. 

He’d never been one to do things half-arsed. Since he hadn’t gone out to get hammered, he might as well wallow.

He was just lying there, on the brink of dozing off, the entire house silent save for the distant sound of wind whispering against the windows and murmur of the telly Louis had left on downstairs to fill the silence. 

His phone pinged.

Louis reached for it with a start, wide awake now, sitting up because he couldn’t bloody well fall asleep here like this, dressed in nothing but his pants and Harry’s worn sweater.

He thumbed over the screen when he saw Harry’s name and blinked at the screen. Then blinked again.

_‘can I spread you open and lick you out?’_

The text was followed by a string of emojis, including a peach and the one with its tongue lolling out and Louis had clearly lost the plot because _what the actual fuck?_

_‘you can sit on my face if you’d like, ride my tongue’_

_‘I’d eat you out until you begged me to stop’_

Louis’ hand shot out to grip his cock through his boxers, eyes squeezed shut because the visual hit him in the stomach so hard it left him dizzy.

The next message was nothing but a string of banana and tongue emojis. 

Louis sat there frozen and confused with a hand over himself, his breathing harsh. He re-read the message again and checked the sender just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

If this was some cruel attempt at a prank, it was working. And even though he knew Harry was most likely just making fun, too tipsy to realize it wasn’t that funny at all, Louis’ cock jerked in his boxers anyway. It filled out so fast it made blood pound all the way down to his fingertips, which flexed reflexively around his cock. 

It wasn’t the first time Harry had made Louis hard without actually meaning to. Just yesterday Harry had waltzed into the kitchen in nothing but an open silky bathrobe and cat slippers, sporting a morning wood. Louis had spilled his cereal right onto his crotch and had to sneak into the bathroom before Harry had noticed that spilled milk was the least of Louis’ problems.

Harry had always liked to be the little spoon when they cuddled, which had put Louis in a precarious position more than once. 

“Just didn’t get laid in a while, sorry,” Louis would say instead of _I don’t want anyone but you_. He’d attempt to move away, Harry’s grip on his arm too tight to let go, voice soft and quiet as he said, “Don’t care, come on, please. Hold me, Lou?”

And Louis always relented because Harry was the only person Louis could never say no to, even if he’d have spent the next hour straining against his boxers and his nose buried in Harry’s curls.

_‘Are you always this polite when asking people to sit on your face? And since when do you use emojis,’_ Louis texted back, playing along. Louis wanted to hate himself for giving in, for pretending this was okay when all he wanted was to tell Harry to stop, to just scream _I’m fucking in love with you_ right into Harry’s stupidly beautiful face. 

Harry never wrote back, probably getting that Louis wasn’t going to play along or getting up to dance with a stranger.

Louis should be the one dancing with him.

Louis squeezed himself, teeth ribbing over his bottom lip as he turned his face into the pillow, hating how much power Harry held over him. 

_‘Can I spread you open and lick you out?’_

And Louis had never had anyone do that to him. Not anything past too awkward shags with two girls he hadn’t even been into and rushed snogs and blowjobs with a few blokes, hidden in a bathroom at the back of a posh club because he couldn’t trust them enough to take them home. And he just… he couldn’t. Not when a short platonic peck from Harry made him feel more than someone else’s tongue down his throat and a hand palming his cock through his trousers.

He squeezed himself through the boxers, shakily moving up to the tip, the shift of the cotton over his hard length adding a maddening kind of friction. He shouldn’t be doing this, should just take off Harry’s sweater and slink back to his room to take a cold shower.

He was far too gone.

He bit down on his lip so hard it hurt and rocked his hips up, the balls of his feet digging into the duvet, calves straining, the hem of the sweater gathering up at his waist.

He released his lip and moaned as he thumbed over his sensitive tip through the thin, white cotton. He kept stroking from base to tip, slowly, guiltily, until he could feel a drop of slick pulse out, making the shift of the cotton slippery and so, so good.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried his hardest not to think of Harry. Wearing his smell was already enough. He shouldn’t be imagining the way Harry would look naked, spread open and desperate, trembling under him. The way his kiss-swollen mouth would fall slack when Louis would nip under his jaw, kissing his way down the column of his smooth neck, pressing _I love you_ into his skin.

Harry whispering it right back.

His cock jerked in his loose grasp, the white cotton nearly translucent over the flushed, wet tip. He tightened his grip and shuddered out a gasp, stroking down, his foreskin dragging over the head. His toes curled into the sheets, sparks of pleasure zipping down his spine and burning hotly in his belly.

Sometimes it felt like he’d go mad, seeing Harry every day, knowing he couldn’t just pull him in and kiss him slow, take hours to taste and caress every inch of his body just to feel him closer. That he couldn’t tell him he loved him and have Harry understand the way Louis meant it.

He threw his forearm over his eyes, losing the battle. He’d always been too weak, guilt churning in his stomach as he scratched his blunt nails through his trimmed pubic hair and circled the thick base of his cock. He teased himself, lightly running his fingertips down the bare length, the fabric of his briefs stretched tight over his knuckles.

It was embarrassing how close he was already.

He pushed the waistband down, the sensitive tip of his cock catching on the fabric until it finally sprang free, cock slapping obscenely against his belly. He pushed the briefs down mid-thigh, digging his nails into his inner thighs and scratching upwards towards his groin. His cock jerked at the spark of pain, his hand shaking when he licked his hand and finally wrapped it around his girth to give it a tight stroke.

He couldn’t stop making those sounds, the little breathless whimpers he always tried to strangle whenever Harry was home. 

_Harry, Harry, Harry._

Louis shifted his hips, back arched as he squeezed the head, slick pearling at the slit. His breath caught in his throat when he rubbed his fingers over it and smoothed it down his length.

Yesterday Harry had been lounging on the couch downstairs in nothing but his unzipped skinny jeans, legs spread as he’d read a book and Louis had almost forgotten himself. He’d had almost walked over and dropped to his knees just so he could slip his hands into the V of Harry’s jeans to pull him out and sink his mouth down Harry’s cock as far as it’d have gone.

The sweater was getting too warm, his free hand already tugging the hem up to his chest, darting under it to brush over his nipples. He’d always been sensitive there, wondered what it would feel like to have someone pinch them and suck them, ribbing over them with their teeth even when he was begging them to stop.

He squeezed one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, keening low in his throat as he rocked up into his fist. The room was quiet save for the wet slide of his hand and his hitching breaths, heart pounding against his ribcage and the voice in his head urging him to _stopstopstop_. Get off Harry’s bed and take the sweater off, stop imagining that Harry was right here, that it was his fingers wrapped tight around Louis’ cock, squeezing the head until more pre-come dribbled out of the slit. 

That maybe he felt the same.

Louis bit down on his lip and tightened his grip, lungs constricting with a shaky breath. It shuddered out past his lips, hot tears burning behind his closed eyelids even as he quickened his strokes. He couldn’t stop. Never knew how to stop when he should, felt like he was trying to walk on water any time Harry was concerned.

The heat in his belly kept building, his heartbeat pulsing under his skin as he rubbed his thumb over the tip, toes curling into the covers.

When he finally came, spurting over his belly and fist, it was with a feeling of shame wriggling in his stomach like snakes.

He collapsed against the mattress, his phone pinging twice before it fell silent again.

Louis blinked his eyes open, feeling raw down to his marrow, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

He couldn’t even look at the screen.

Suddenly the sweater felt like sandpaper on his skin like it didn't belong. Like he was playing shameful pretend.

He looked down at himself, belly and the bottom of the sweater dotted with come.

His hands shook.

He swallowed past the knot in his throat and clambered out of the bed, trying to breathe past the smothering weight of guilt pressing down on his chest. Even the walls were judging him. The walls with the pretty artwork and the rumpled duvet and the dirtied sweater.

If his vision turned a little blurry as he was washing the come out of it in Harry’s adjacent bathroom, nobody had to know. He only had himself to blame.

He was just putting the stain remover back into the cupboard under the sink, as though he'd just covered up a crime when he heard it.

The front door downstairs being keyed open and shut close, the clumsy jangle of keys falling to the floor.

Louis froze, clutching the sweater so hard his knuckles turned white, staring at the empty doorway of the bathroom in panic, knowing he’d never make it down to his room unseen.

It was too late.

He could only stand there with sweaty palms and the heavy sludge of dread sitting at the bottom of his stomach as he heard Harry call out, “Lou?”

Louis deserved to be found out, to have Harry see him hiding in his bathroom with the damp sweater and colour draining out of Louis’ face as if he was a criminal caught in the act.

In a moment of panic, he put the sweater back on, feeling raw and exposed. The damp hem was chilly and uncomfortable on his bare thighs.

“Lou, are you home?” There were footsteps on the stairs, a dull click-click of Harry’s heels. Even if Harry hadn’t spoken a word, Louis could tell his footsteps apart from anyone else’s in the world.

“I’m,” he cleared his throat, heart thudding painfully against his ribcage, “’M here!”

He had to hold onto the sink because his knees wouldn’t stop shaking as he waited, his gaze trained on the floor.

Harry’s pigeon-toed feet finally came into the view a few moments later. The zips on the sides of his black leather boots were already pulled down.

“You’re home early,” came out of Louis’ mouth. The voice sounded as though it didn’t belong to him.

Harry shuffled closer, bracing himself against the doorframe. He’d clearly had more than one drink and Louis had to fight the urge to rush forward to balance him, to tuck him into bed so he’d get some rest.

He couldn’t move. It would get better tomorrow, he knew. When he'd push the memory into the back of his mind and pretend it had never happened. The longing for Harry would be easier to handle in the light of the day when he was at the receiving end of Harry's soft smile and they argued who'd get to have the last of the milk.

Having Harry’s love at all made everything worth it.

“Lou, I… did you get, I mean,” the tips of Harry’s feet stopped a few inches away from Louis’, his scent filling Louis’ nostrils. Smoke and booze and perfume and something that was inherently Harry, still there underneath all the layers, “It was Nick, I didn’t—”

Louis had no idea what Harry was talking about. It didn’t matter. “I’m sorry.”

Harry’s ringed fingers fluttered up to Louis’ elbow, touching him over the woollen fabric. “Sorry? Why?”

He finally braved looking up to meet Harry’s eyes. He’d never want Harry to think anything was wrong. That Louis’ strange behaviour was in any way his fault. “I borrowed your sweater—”

“That’s okay,” Harry’s eyes were a little glassy, his curls in a messy disarray, framing his flushed cheeks and sticking to his neck. He smiled, confused.

“But I got it dirty,” Louis blurted out, his heart lurching in his chest. If only he could snatch the words out of the air and shove them back down his throat. 

For a second he wondered if he’d said it because a part of him wanted to be caught. 

“It’s just a sweater, Lou. Don’t care,” Harry said, wrapping his fingers around Louis’ upper arm and tugging him forward. “Can I hug you?”

It was stupid that he even felt like he had to ask.

Louis let himself be pulled forward, aching with how right it felt to be this close. He swallowed hard and opened his arms. “Didn’t you have fun, babycakes?”

The nickname felt almost foreign on his tongue. He suddenly realized he hadn’t called Harry that in a long time.

Louis stumbled back under the heavy weight of Harry’s body slumping into his. His curls tickled Louis’ cheek, warm breath tickling Louis’ ear as he whispered, “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“You didn’t kill someone, did you?” Louis half-joked as he tucked his chin over Harry’s shoulder, rubbing Harry’s back as he tried to think of the best way to hide a body.

Harry’s arms tightened around him as he swayed them in place and shook his head. His voice came out slower than usual, a little shaky, as he mumbled, “No. Just… those messages, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” Louis reassured him when he realized what Harry was talking about. He clenched his fist in the back of Harry’s shirt. It wasn’t fine. Neither was having wanked over it. Nothing about this whole thing was fine.

“I should tuck you into bed, yeah?”

Harry sniffed. Having a shot too many always made him emotional. 

“No, want to sleep with you. Louis, please. Don’t want to be alone, don’t want you to be angry with me.”

Louis swallowed hard, hugging Harry tight. “I’ll always be here for you. I promise I’m not angry. There’s no reason to be. Well, unless you leave your bloody shoes all over the place for me to trip over.”

Harry shook his head but didn’t speak, but Louis could feel Harry’s breath stutter.

“Nick sent it, he… thought… I _wouldn’t._ I wouldn’t joke like that, didn’t want you to think—” _that I want you like that,_ “—had to come home, had to explain. It wasn’t funny.”

For one horrible moment, Louis wondered whether Harry didn't think it was funny because he knew how Louis really felt about him. If that was why lately it felt as though they had a hard time talking the way they’d used to.

“It’s fine, I promise it’s fine.” Harry wasn’t the guilty one here. He wasn’t the one wearing his best friend’s scent on his skin, feeling like the bottom of the gutter.

“I’m a little drunk,” Harry admitted, nuzzling the curve of Louis’ neck, folding himself into Louis to make himself smaller.

“You didn’t have to leave just to tell me, you know.”

“Was getting tired anyway. Wanted to go home,” Harry mumbled, his hands finding the dip of Louis’ lower back, fingers curling into the sweater.

Home.

For Harry, it was this house. For Louis, it was Harry.

Louis just… he loved him. Felt it stir in his chest as he held Harry back and tried to walk them backwards out of the bathroom as carefully as possible.

“Bed,” he reminded Harry, trying and failing at not tripping over Harry’s clumsy feet. “Babe, maybe let me go so we can walk, yeah?”

“No.” Harry’s arms tightened around him. 

They were just a couple feet away from Harry’s bed. He could make it.

Then he saw the rumpled duvet and blanched, gaze darting away. He didn’t want Harry to sleep there before he changed the sheets.

“Come on,” he decided, bending his knees and sliding his hands under Harry’s thighs to help him up. “I’ll carry you, monkey.”

Harry was a dead weight, a clingy koala, clamping his limbs tight around Louis’ body as Louis heaved him higher up in his arms and prayed he wouldn’t fall down the stairs and kill them both. “When did you get so heavy? You need to cut out all the ice-cream.”

“’M not. You’re just a weak little thing.” Harry nosed at Louis’ temple and shifted in place. Louis heard the thud of a shoe falling on the stairs, followed by another.

If Harry wasn’t drunk, he wouldn’t have let Louis carry him like this. He had more common sense than that. “And yet here I am, holding your dead weight like it’s nothing.”

“You can’t even… reach the top shelf.”

Louis was starting to run out of breath, the strain and the heat of Harry’s body making him sweat. 

He pinched Harry’s thigh. “Well, how about I drop you then? I’ll use your dead body for a boost. We’ll see who can’t reach the top shelf then.”

“You wouldn’t,” Harry said, nuzzling him. “You smell like sunshine.”

If Louis didn’t have his hands full, he’d have closed his eyes and prayed to a god he’d never believed in. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Does too,” Harry mumbled as they reached the landing.

Louis made it to his bedroom, his hands too full to turn on the lights. The blue tint of the moonlight sweeping over the room through a row of windows under the ceiling was enough.

He kneed up on the bed and gently set Harry down on the mattress. Or, well, _tried_. Harry wouldn’t unclamp his legs from around Louis’ waist and the sharp tug of the movement made Louis lose his balance.

He caught himself with his palms slapping on the mattress on each side of Harry’s shoulders, his hips flush against Harry’s. Harry still had his jeans on, the fabric rough and _too much_ , his leg hooked over Louis’ bare thigh.

Too close.

Their feet dangled off the bed and Louis found himself face to face with the slow sweep of Harry’s lashes, the black pupils edging the green almost entirely out. The tips of Harry’s fingers were barely brushing the curve of Louis’ ass, right below the hem of the sweater that had ridden up to his lower back.

“Harry—”

Harry’s nostrils flared, his chest expanding on a deep, shaky breath as he stared right back, silent and trembling as if he had a storm inside him that he didn’t quite know how to contain.

Louis was weak. So, so weak.

And even though he closed his eyes, he saw the echo of Harry’s face staring at him from the back of his eyelids, the pink, pink lips parted on a breath, the little beauty mark a little below the corner of his mouth, those familiar eyes and the sharp arches of his brows.

Louis leaned in until he felt Harry’s breath hit his chin and hesitated before kissing the tip of Harry’s nose.

Harry’s hands flattened against Louis’ back to hold him in place.

“You need to sleep this off,” Louis whispered, lifting up on his knees until Harry was forced to let go. His heart wouldn’t slow down only because he was still winded. “You’ll feel even more awful in the morning if you don’t. We both know you get the worst hangovers.”

“Do I smell like a pub?” Harry asked, letting his arms flop to his sides, staring up at Louis with a soft, open gaze. The cross on Harry’s necklace tangled in the chain rested by Harry’s neck, nestled in his curls.

“Yes,” Louis admitted, brushing his knuckles over Harry’s cheek, right over the spot where his dimple would be. Finding it was muscle memory. “It’s alright. You can shower in the morning.”

“Don’t have to sleep with me if I stink,” Harry said, his eyelids already drooping. The corners of his mouth slumped as though he didn’t want Louis to agree with him.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. You smell like roses.”

Harry giggled, breathless and too tired to give it much energy, already about to curl up on his side.

“No, you’ve got to take your jeans off. Trust me, if you don’t, you’ll regret it in the morning. Your bollocks will thank me.”

“Tired.” He kicked out his leg, prodding Louis with his foot. “Help, please.”

Louis took a deep breath. Exhaled. “You owe me.”

He tried not to think about it too much, about how his hands looked unbuckling Harry’s belt, the sound of the leather scraping against the metal before it flared open, the little strip of Harry’s belly under the hem of his shirt, quivering when Louis’ fingers brushed over it as he undid the top button of Harry’s jeans.

“Harry—”

Harry’s hands clenched in the sheets, his hips bucking up. “Please.”

Louis gritted his teeth, telling himself that Harry was still drunk and probably hadn’t pulled anyone when Harry’s cock thickened under Louis’ hand as he was lowering the zipper down.

Harry’s lashes were fanned over his cheeks. Louis would have thought him asleep if it weren’t for his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the whites of them flashing in the dark.

Louis hooked his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s jeans and tugged down carefully, averting his gaze when it pulled at Harry’s grey briefs anyway, revealing a bit of dark, neatly trimmed hair above his groin.

He rolled the tight jeans _downdowndown_ Harry’s long, lean legs and dropped them to the floor. He took off Harry’s socks too, thumbing at the delicate bones of his ankles.

Harry had the most awkward feet and Louis still wanted to kiss their arches.

“Shirt too, please. Too many buttons,” Harry said, his toes curling. Louis was too whipped to even be angry that Harry was making him do this.

Just as he was about to climb over Harry’s thigh to sit by his side, Harry propped himself up on his elbows and clumsily sat up with his feet tucked under his bum, so close to Louis that he felt the heat radiate off Harry’s body as if he was made of fire.

“You don’t have to sit up, love. It’s fine. I can—”

“You look lovely in my sweater,” Harry said, brushing the back of his hand down Louis’ side, his gaze flickering from his own hand to Louis’ face almost thoughtfully.

“We should,” Louis cleared his throat, his chest tight, “get you out of that shirt.”

Harry ignored him, inching his fingers up Louis’ torso until he reached the collar. He pulled at it until it slipped off Louis’ shoulder, the pad of his thumb stroking Louis’ collarbone slowly, tenderly.

He had to steady himself on Harry’s knee, had to avoid Harry’s eyes because he knew the second Harry looked at him he’d know just how overwhelmed Louis was at a single, innocent touch of Harry’s hands right now.

“The shirt,” he choked out, reminding both Harry and himself.

Harry let his hand drop and just waited, silent and expectant.

Louis told himself to do it quickly, like ripping a plaster off a wound.

“Fuck,” he muttered as his shaking fingers wouldn’t stop slipping over the button resting over the hollow of Harry’s throat. Today of all days he’d had to do them all up.

The button finally came loose, followed by another and another and another until the silky fabric wilted open over Harry’s chest, his nipples stiff against the fabric. Louis wanted to shuffle closer and press his mouth there, sink his teeth in and lick over the sweet-salty caramel of Harry’s skin. 

The last two buttons slipped out of the holes and the fabric fluttered open completely, Louis’ knuckles brushing over Harry’s belly. The butterfly fluttered under his touch and Harry sucked in an unsteady breath, falling back to sit on his bum and stretching his legs out on either side of Louis, looking up at Louis from beneath his lashes. Just waiting.

Louis swallowed hard, cursing the pull Harry had on him just by sitting there, watching him with his thighs spread and his cock half hard between his legs.

_He has no idea what he’s doing to me._

“Do you think there are frogs that are afraid of water?” Harry asked, offering Louis his wrist.

Louis loved Harry’s ridiculous mind so much it hurt. “I’ve seen pigeons walk more often than they fly, so I reckon there are frogs afraid of water too.”

Harry frowned, watching as Louis shakily tried to undo the buttons on his cuff. “I wish I could fly.”

“We can go base jumping if you want.” He took Harry’s other hand and soon the last button finally came free. With a gentle brush of his fingertips over the back of Harry’s hand, Louis forced himself to let go.

“That doesn’t count,” Harry said, letting his hand fall back on the mattress, long fingers spread over Louis’ covers. “You’re not flying, you’re just falling.”

If Louis could, he’d build Harry wings that could take him anywhere he wanted. “You’re maudlin tonight. You alright?”

Harry took a breath as though he was about to say something more, pinning Louis in place with the strange, unwavering intensity of his gaze. In the end, he just sighed, one shoulder bouncing up in a careless shrug. “I’m fine. A little tired.”

“Nick does have that effect on people. Sucks all energy right out of you.”

Harry laughed weakly and seemed to be planning on just collapsing back on the bed still in his unbuttoned shirt.

“Wait,” Louis steadied him, the sheets rustling and the mattress letting out a little whine as he kneed closer in between Harry’s spread legs. His skin was smooth and hot, burning Louis’ fingertips as he slipped his hands under the fabric over Harry’s shoulders and pushed the shirt off until it fell in a heap behind Harry’s back. Louis wished he could bring Harry’s arm up to his mouth, press a kiss into the _Things I Can’t._

“There. Much better,” he said hoarsely, shuffling away from Harry on his knees, putting distance between them. “You settle in, yeah? I’ll just… I need to wash up.”

Harry lay back on the covers, his muscles shifting with the lazy movement, dark curls spilling over Louis’ white pillowcase. “Will you be back?”

“I will,” Louis lied, knowing Harry would fall asleep before he came back. He always did when he’d had too much to drink.

After he washed up and entered his bedroom again, Harry was tucked under the duvet, eyes closed, chest rising and falling, snoring loudly on each inhale like a bloody see-saw. Louis had never minded.

And even though he’d promised, he couldn’t quite bring himself to be that close right now, his nerve endings still fired up.

He leaned in to brush a stray curl off Harry’s forehead, tucked the duvet under his chin and wandered back into Harry’s room to change his bed.

The unread texts on his phone that he’d forgotten in Harry’s room read: _‘Ignore that, I didn’t. I’m coming home.’_

Louis turned off his phone and forced his feet to move back downstairs into the spare bedroom.

The sheets were cold against his skin, smelling like detergent.

By the time he fell asleep, the sun was already coming up.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

When Louis dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen, he didn’t expect Harry to be the first one awake.

“Hey,” Harry greeted quietly, his skin a little ashen, hands tucked into the sleeves of a too big sweater and curled around a mug. A couple of croissants lay untouched on a plate, waiting to be eaten. “You look like death.”

Louis almost laughed. Almost. Lack of sleep always made him feel strangely dizzy. “Cheers. Not looking that fresh yourself.”

Harry gave him a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and Louis knew immediately that something was bothering him but he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Louis could write a book on all Harry’s expressions and different kinds of smiles. He could, but that would be creepy.

“I made you tea. Sorry about yesterday,” Harry told him, pushing a still steaming mug towards Louis across the kitchen table. Sun filtered in through the big windows, caressing the side of Harry’s face and tangling in his hair — pulled into a hasty bun — as though it loved him as much as Louis did. It couldn’t possibly.

“Not the first time, Curly. Reckon it won’t be the last.” Louis settled opposite him on a white wooden chair and pulled the black mug with white dots closer to himself. It was his favourite because Harry had bought it for him in some antique shop in Ohio during one of his impromptu trips, simply because he’d wanted to get Louis a little gift. “You do the same for me.”

“Still—”

“It’s fine,” Louis said, more softly. He’d always been too soft on Harry. “Cheers for the tea. Though it could have gone to waste if I didn’t wake up in time.”

“I knew you would. I could feel it,” Harry said, half of his face hidden behind his matching mug in reversed colours, a pillow crease high on his cheek.

He’d always been full of shit, but Louis loved him anyway.

“You’re an idiot.”

Harry frowned, gave him that intense look that would have made Louis suspect Harry was about to skin him alive and wear his skin as a nightgown if he didn’t know any better. 

Louis rolled his eyes and said, “stop giving me that creepy look.”

“You don’t believe me.”

Louis took a sip of his tea. It was exactly how he liked it. He had to swallow back the _marry me_ burning on the tip of his tongue. He’d had to do that more often than he’d willingly admit.

“’Course I don’t. That’s ridiculous.”

Harry lifted a croissant to his mouth and bit down, his mind clearly working a mile a minute. It was too early for this.

"Can you please tell me what's bothering you?" Louis asked his mug meeting the table with a dull thud. "Have I done something?"

Harry was quiet for far too long.

“You haven’t,” Harry said finally, chewing with the kind of aloof passive aggressiveness that set Louis on edge. Maybe it was all in his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Can you talk to me?” Louis asked.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing? Talking?” 

Louis tried not to stare at the flex of Harry’s jaw as he chewed. 

“Not like this. I meant,” Louis leaned back against the chair, running a frustrated hand down his face, “ _Talk_ to me. I can tell something’s on your mind.”

Harry kept chewing, silent. Still Louis could tell he had words waiting on the tip of his tongue. Why wouldn’t he just say them?

“I don’t know,” Harry said, avoiding Louis’ gaze.

“Harry, can we,” he swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the table, his voice quiet, “I feel like you don’t tell me anything anymore. Like we’re… I don’t know. Distant? I guess I don’t know either,” Louis shook his head, defeated. “It’s stupid, forget I said anything.”

The chair scraped across the floor as he stood up, his nearly full mug abandoned on the table, steam curling up accusingly.

“Forget it,” he whispered and walked out.

Harry didn’t ask him to stop but, Louis heard the creak of the chair and the soft padding of Harry’s footfalls following behind.

Louis just clenched his jaw and quickened his pace, the wooden floor cold under his bare feet as he crossed the open space towards the living room. The lights were washing over the floor in golden beams, the rush of the traffic too distant to disturb the silence.

He could still hear Harry following behind morosely. He should have known better than expect Harry to just let it go.

Louis wasn’t even sure he wanted to talk anymore.

“What’s wrong with you?” Louis was already turning on his heel to give Harry a piece of his mind when he found Harry standing right behind him, so close they could share the same breath if he leaned in close enough.

Before he could take a step back, Harry was invading his personal space, even more, making himself at home with his hands cradling Louis’ face as he leaned his forehead against Louis’. It hurt to look at Harry from this close. He shut his eyes, suddenly too aware of his arms and hands, just hanging there limply by his sides. 

Two years ago, he’d have wrapped himself around Harry like a cheap boa with no hesitation. Things were a little different now. He hated it. “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t eat your croissant,” Harry said quietly, his thumbs brushing back and forth over Louis’ cheeks.

“What?”

“I went to the bakery to get it because I know you like to have it for breakfast with your tea and—” Louis felt off balance, his throat tight, “—and you didn’t even… you, um… Fuck.”

“Harry, I’m sorry, I’ll go eat it, I’m,” he moved to go but Harry wouldn’t let him, matched him step for step until they were locked in this strange kind of dance that Louis didn’t know the choreography to. He’d always been better at improvising, “Is that why you—”

“You promised,” Harry said, his voice so deep Louis felt it thrum in the marrow of his bones like the beat of drums on full volume. “You said you’d come back to hold me and you didn’t.”

Louis wilted and grabbed onto the first thing he could reach – the side of Harry’s beige sweater. He tried not to think of having worn it a couple weeks ago when Harry had gone out for some pap shots. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“But I asked you to. And you _promised_.”

Maybe for the first time, Louis realized that maybe he might have been the reason. Maybe it was him who kept digging out the deepening hole between them.

He held onto Harry’s sweater and shook his head, the lie of _I just didn’t want to disturb you_ ready to slip out. Only, he didn’t think he could lie. “I felt a little off last night. I didn’t mean to push you away, you know I wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t you?” Harry asked, his hands leaving burning trails on Louis’ skin as they slipped off his face. Harry took a step back. The bright light hurt Louis’ eyes, “I understand the need to be alone, Lou. I get it. Sometimes we all need that. But I feel like… you keep pushing me away more and more and I don’t know _why_. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what you wanted me to say?”

The laugh punched out of Louis’ throat almost hurt. There wasn’t much humour in it. He hadn’t meant to put distance between them, hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it in the first place. “You know what? Maybe it is. It’s better than—” this whole thing between them when they were still close but Louis no longer felt like he knew Harry inside out.

"I'm not blaming you," Harry said carefully like he knew how quick Louis could slip into offensive when pushed into a corner. It wasn't fucking fair. “I’m not saying it’s all on you. What you said back there in the kitchen…”

Louis breathed in. And out.

“It’s like we forgot how to really talk. Sometimes it’s like we’re living in the same space, but… we rarely ever spend time together, just the two of us. One of us is always somewhere and even when we’re not I feel so far away from you. You were right.” Harry held his gaze, soft lights dancing over the sharp cut of his cheekbones. 

His jaw was dusted with a light uneven scruff, little wisps of hair falling out of his hastily made bun. He was taller than Louis now, had been for some time, but he still looked small dressed in his sweater and loose joggers, no socks on his feet. He might as well have been sixteen again.

Back then Louis had felt like he could bare his soul to Harry at a moment’s notice. And they were still close now, incredibly so, but a part of him held back. Maybe he was just trying to protect himself.

“I don’t feel very right. I don’t want to be.”

The silence between them was crushing, pressing down on his chest like a boulder that just kept growing heavier.

“Louis, we’ve got to,” Harry said, heaving a frustrated a sigh, his fingers already halfway to combing through his hair when he realized he’d put it up. He let his hand fall, his mess of a bun sloping sideways, “we’ve got to figure this out. We can't just… Live like this.”

Louis felt the words burn up his throat, settle on his tongue. They spilled out before he could catch them. “Well, then _leave_.”

He hadn’t meant it, took a startled step back as soon as he said it. 

Harry’s shoulders slumped. He just looked sad and too small and Louis couldn’t fucking handle another second of it. “I didn’t mean it. Harry, I didn’t… please.”

He reached for Harry as though to pull him into a hug. He no longer knew what to do. 

“No,” Harry said, taking a step out of Louis’ reach. “We can’t do this, like… cuddle everything better.” Harry met his gaze, intense and serious. 

Louis let his arms fall to his sides.

Deep down Louis knew that Harry wasn’t the exact same person he’d been when they’d first met, but it still somehow caught him by surprise how grown up Harry was. How _mature._ Even when he still cut off the crusts on his sandwiches and insisted it was perfectly fine to have dessert before bedtime. 

“I know,” Louis said, even though he ached.

“If you think I’d just leave, you don’t know me at all. I want to make this work. I want us to work, you’re…” Harry laughed, a short squawk of a sound. “You’re too important.”

He wondered if Harry could hear the frantic beat of his heart. He wished he could step in close, stretch out the bottom of Harry’s sweater so he could slide right in and wrap himself around Harry with no barrier between them. Just pretend nothing had changed.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant. I never meant to be,” Louis said.

“No one ever does, do they?” Harry ducked his head, fingers carefully reaching for Louis’ wrist. The touch of Harry’s hands always made him feel calmer, steadier. “I’m not blaming you. I’m sorry too, I’m just as guilty. I haven’t talked to you properly in too long. I didn’t think you’d notice—”

“You thought I wouldn’t _notice_?” If he didn’t need to feel Harry’s skin on his so much, he’d have shrugged him off, would have struggled to pull away. “You curly haired wanker, I fucking miss you!”

_Even when you’re with me._

He didn’t say that out loud.

“Lou.” Harry pulled at Louis’ wrist, making him stumble forward. His hand shot out to brace himself against Harry’s chest. His heart wasn’t the only one racing. “My hair’s not even as curly as it used to be.”

Had he been a better person, he’d have reminded Harry that they shouldn’t be touching this better. But he wasn’t. So he gripped Harry’s sweater and said, “It still is, wonderfully so.”

Harry’s free hand covered Louis’ on his chest, his lips pulled into a taut line. “I’m sorry. Like, I know relationships need work—”

“Relationships,” Louis repeated, his grip falling slack as he laughed. He hadn’t meant to, he just… it was funny. Funny because that was all he’d ever wanted, wasn’t it? Just _be_ with Harry, in every way possible like the bloody sap he was and somehow they’d never—

His laugh died a quick death when Harry let go of his hands and turned away, his bare feet curved in.

“Maybe we should have a day to ourselves, you know? Like… do stuff together. Talk. The way we used to,” Harry said with his back still turned. He sounded strange. Shaky. “I just need to… just have a quick shower first.”

“Harry, wait—”

But Harry was already walking away, leaving Louis standing there with laden limbs.

He knew exactly what Harry sounded like before he even disappeared from view. Like that time someone had told him his hair looked stupid when he’d been first trying to grow it out, and Harry had just laughed it off and pretended it didn’t matter. Louis had still let his own hair grow out alongside him because he could tell Harry had been hurt by it.

The last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt Harry, but somehow he’d still managed it.

****

By the time Harry came out of the shower, Louis had a plan. A shoddy plan, but he’d never been one to keep his apologies close to his chest.

For the first time in his life, Louis was grateful Harry took the world’s longest showers. It gave him 40 minutes to throw on some clothes, run out of the building and definitely-not-steal a bunch of freesias from the little greenhouse next to it.

If anyone asked, he’d never been there.

All he could find at home was a spare shoelace, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, so he tied it around the makeshift bouquet and had just enough time to wash up before Harry popped out of his room.

Any and all words abandoned Louis the second he saw Harry standing there in just his flowery silk bathrobe, his hair in a towel turban.

“Uhh,” was all he could manage.

Harry froze, hand still on the bathrobe belt. He still wouldn’t quite look at Louis. “What?”

“Nothing,” Louis said, his ears burning. “I, eh… I got you something.”

He walked into the kitchen where he'd left the flowers on the table. He could smell Harry right behind him, sweet, the fresh smell wafting off his damp skin.

Louis gripped the flowers harder than he probably needed to and turned around.

Only when Louis stood there, holding the bouquet out, did he realize how shitty it looked. Clearly thrown together at the last minute, clearly not bought at the florist's. Suddenly it seemed worse than if he’d have done nothing at all. "Sorry, they look so, well… sad. I just—"

“Why?” Harry asked, eyeing the flowers without reaching for them. Louis wondered if they could wilt under Harry’s gaze. 

“Because I’m a twat. And because you like flowers.”

“You like flowers more than I do,” Harry said.

Louis let the bouquet fall to his side, tried his best to force himself to sound normal, as though he didn’t feel like Harry had just twisted a knife through his ribcage. The flowers had been a stupid idea to begin with. It didn’t matter.

“Never mind. So what movie do you want to watch? Or we could just order in and hang out, play Scrabble, whatever—”

“Hey,” Harry interrupted, voice slow and deep as he reached for Louis’ wrist. “I didn’t mean… Thank you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be daft.” Harry took the flowers, his hands warm. Louis felt the echoes of them on his own skin even when they were no longer touching. Harry always did that to him, always left a piece of himself buried somewhere under Louis’ skin. “I like them.”

And because Louis was a knob who lacked a mouth-to-brain filter, he said, “They smell nice, like you, so…”

Harry buried his nose in the flowers and deeply inhaled, his gaze flicking to Louis’. “You’re acting strange.”

“I’m always acting strange, which makes this… not strange.”

Harry’s brows furrowed.

Louis tried not to squirm where he stood and returned Harry’s probing gaze with the courage of someone who had been in love with his best friend for years and was about to shit his pants.

“Is that my sweater?” Harry asked, his robe drifting open over his chest, skin still flushed from the shower. God help Louis.

“What?” Louis glanced down at himself, stalling for time because of bloody course it was Harry’s sweater. Louis loved to sabotage himself. “Don’t know. Could be.”

“I’ve been looking for that. I think I mean to put it in the wash a couple days ago—”

“As riveting as laundry talk is, how about a pizza?” Louis asked, frantic to divert Harry’s attention away from Louis’ shameful addiction.

Harry might as well smelled the melting cheese right under his nose. Nothing worked to distract him better than pizza. Louis never claimed to use his powers for good. 

“With pineapples and sweet corn?”

“Why must you be so offensive?”

Louis didn’t miss Harry’s soft smile before he took a whiff of the flowers again.

Louis prayed for his own sanity.

****

It shouldn’t feel this awkward, just sitting down next to Harry on the couch, the TV turned off. Maybe it was the deafening quiet, so loud Louis felt it ring in his ears. Maybe it was the heat of Harry’s body so close to his own that made him feel stupid with the need to reach out.

“Do you want to watch a film? Or we can watch _Friends_ reruns,” Louis said, itching his calf with his foot, staring at the blank TV, empty hands folded in his lap.

“No,” Harry said, twisting in his seat so he could face Louis, leaning his shoulder against the backrest.

Louis swallowed hard and tried to ignore the way Harry’s bathrobe rode up his thigh, the silk teasing sun-warmed skin. The damp towel had been flung onto the empty armchair, Harry’s hair a wet tangled mess.

“Careful there, love, or you’re gonna flash me.”

Well, he’d never been too good at censoring his thoughts.

Harry laughed, his weird honking laugh that made Louis’ mouth twitch. He loved Harry’s stupid laugh, had spent years doing anything and everything to earn it.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, yeah? Am I offending your delicate sensibilities?” Harry poked Louis’ thigh with his index finger bare of any rings. He tucked his legs under his bum, his awkward feet hanging off the seat.

Louis grabbed Harry’s finger and didn’t let go. “I’m not delicate. I’m manly. And rugged. And you have… tiny ears, so you’ve really no room to comment.”

His free hand twitched with the urge to reach out and pet the shell of Harry’s ear just to prove his point, so he did. He had nothing to lose.

He twisted in his seat, let go of Harry’s finger. There was a moment of hesitation as he searched Harry’s face, lifting his hand slowly until Harry’s damp curls tickled his knuckles. He caressed the shell of Harry’s ear, his earlobe soft under Louis’ thumb. 

Even though Harry had changed in many ways, this had always stayed the same. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into Louis’ touch like a sunflower craning towards the sunlight, nuzzling his cheek into Louis’ palm.

“Harry—”

“Sorry,” he made to pull away but Louis stopped him, cupped his jaw to keep him in place. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do other than refusing to let go.

“Do you mind this?”

“Don’t be stupid. You know I don’t,” Harry drawled in his sweet, soft way. He always got like this when he was being caressed. Vulnerable. It had always made Louis uneasy to share this Harry with anyone, even though he knew Harry could protect himself from hurt all by himself.

“Do you know what?” Louis asked, gently untangling Harry’s curls.

“Hm?”

“I think that… that even in twenty years, I’ll still,” _love you and want to protect you like I did when you were sixteen,_ “make fun of your tiny ears. Look at them. Can you even hear anything?”

“Hey.” Harry’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout, but his eyes drifted shut as Louis teased his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Maybe I don’t even need to because you’re so bloody loud.”

Louis laughed, eyes dropping to the plush bow of Harry’s lips tilted into a mischievous smile. “Cheeky shit.”

“I’m not the one who’s so loud his moans can be heard one floor above.”

Louis choked on a laugh, his hand tightening in Harry’s hair. When he lifted his gaze, he already found Harry’s trained on his face, intent. The urge to squirm away was almost strong enough for him to pull away, but Harry caught his wrist, turning his face to press a lingering kiss to Louis’ fluttering pulse.

Why was it so hard to breathe?

“You’re the one who wanted the loft, love,” Louis said, unable to look away, to put distance between them that would help him shake off the slow, crawling heat prickling his skin. “Is that what gets you off then? Listening in?”

They’d always played games, ever since the beginning. It had never gone further than words and touches that just barely toed over some unspoken threshold. It had always been laughed off in the end and the tension would leave Louis wound up for hours every single time.

“Maybe it does,” Harry whispered, nuzzling Louis’ wrist, rubbing his nose back and forth over it like a cat. “’S like getting off vicariously through you.”

“Are you teasing me?” Louis asked, wishing he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt, heat curling in his belly. “Can’t tell, what with your morbid tone.”

In a purposefully deeper voice, Harry said, “You like it.”

Sometimes Louis wondered if Harry really did know. If he noticed Louis watching him cook or clean or hang up laundry and realize how painfully in love with him Louis was. If he sometimes stopped and just considered it the same way Louis did when he caught Harry looking at him from across the room. The _what if._

Maybe that was just Louis’ wishful thinking.

Louis opened his mouth, ready to snort, to dryly say _you wish_ or _yeah, babe, sure I do_ , and yet what came out of his mouth was, “We should blow dry your hair. You know, because it’s wet and like… I want to do it. Let’s do it.”

He wondered when he’d lost all his cool. Why it kept getting harder and harder to flirt with Harry without giving his real feelings away.

He jumped to his feet, pulling his hand out of Harry’s slackened hold and tried not to look too maniacal.

“I’ll be back in a sec.”

He cursed under his breath all the way to the bathroom, puttering around way longer than necessary before he made his way back to the living room. He didn’t know what he’d say if Harry asked him what all that had been about.

“Found it!” he announced uselessly, brandishing the hairdryer.

“Are you really going to dry my hair?” Harry asked, watching him like one would a wild animal. The last time Louis had done this, they'd been crammed into a hotel room somewhere in between the southern US cities, insisting on doing it even though the heat outside would have done the job just as well. He’d done it to distract himself then too, to take his mind off the way Harry had looked on stage that night. How it had made Louis ache to say _I love everything that you are._

It was funny, the way he’d always used touching to distract from the words he couldn’t say out loud. When they were touching, there wasn’t any need for it.

“I’m a man of my word. Come on.” He tossed the damp towel out of the armchair and onto the floor and dragged the armchair closer to the wall where the electrical socket was. “Sit.”

Harry unfolded his long limbs carefully and wobbled up to his feet like the newborn colt he was. He sat down Indian style. His bathrobe loosened with the motion, exposing long stretches of skin, from Harry’s firm pecs down to the trail of dark hair, trimmed patch of it nestled around Harry’s cock, which rested softly between his fuzzy thighs.

Louis tore his gaze away and bent down to plug the hairdryer in.

“Ready for the best experience of your life?” he said, running his fingers over Harry’s damp hair. “It’s dumb that Lou won’t let me do it for her. I’m clearly a pro.”

“Yes, I’m ready for the blowjob. Do me.”

Louis squeezed the back of Harry’s neck, glad he couldn’t see Louis right now. “Behave.”

“You too. If you burn my ears, I’m leaving,” Harry said.

“I’ll be careful,” Louis promised, the last syllable drowned out by the loud noise.

Harry sat for him with minimal squirming, his head hanging forward, following the movements of Louis’ hands as he ruffled Harry’s hair this way and that. Under the silk of the bathrobe, Harry’s shoulders were broad, rising and falling slowly with calm breaths.

Louis’ hands in his hair had always lulled him to sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, kitten,” Louis said though he doubted Harry could hear him over the noise.

After a few minutes, Harry reached behind himself, searching until he found Louis’ arm.

“Yeah?” Louis asked, turning the hairdryer off and leaning down. “What’s up?”

“Are we done?”

“Why? You didn’t like it?”

Harry’s hand fumbled up Louis’ upper arm to clasp behind the back of Louis’ neck. “No. I did. You know I did. Just… can we cuddle now?”

Louis put the hairdryer on the floor and looped his arms around Harry’s chest from behind, nosing behind Harry’s ear. The bathrobe slipped off Harry’s shoulder and Louis was touching bare skin, felt Harry’s nipple stiffen under his palm. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out, letting his head loll back, exposing the long column of his throat.

Louis wanted to kiss the length of it, brush sweet kisses over the smooth skin down to the hollow of Harry’s throat. Clutch the skimpy fabric of the robe and let it fall to the floor so he could drink in every inch of Harry, every scar and blemish, press his nose into the soft skin of his belly and breathe him in.

Inadvertently, he rubbed Harry’s chest, his palm dragging over Harry’s nipple. Harry’s breath caught in his chest, his lax body suddenly wrought with tension like a bow ready to fire.

“Sorry—”

“No, I—” He held onto Louis’ hand, breath leaving him on a rushed exhale. “Just sensitive.”

Louis swallowed hard, felt Harry’s heartbeat reverberate through his bones. “Yeah?”

Harry still wasn’t letting go, his tongue darting out to wet his parted lips. Seeing his cock fill up just a bit made heat shoot right into Louis’ belly, his breath stuttering.

“Harry—”

“We should, um,” Harry let go, unfolding his legs and adjusting his bathrobe back into place as though nothing had happened. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, “Put a movie on, yeah? I’ll just… go slip into some joggers. Get more comfy.”

Before he walked away, Louis didn’t miss the way Harry’s cheeks had turned bright red.

His own responded in kind.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Seeing Harry dressed up in soft, comfy clothes shouldn’t have made Louis want to pull a pillow into his lap just so he wouldn’t reach out to pull Harry there instead. It did. 

He could still feel the echo of Harry’s thrumming heartbeat under his palm, the exposed column of his throat so close to Louis’ lips, ready to be kissed.

“Are we really going to do this?” Harry wriggled in place next to Louis, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on top. “We’ve seen it a hundred times already.”

“How about a hundred and one then?” Louis asked, the remote control clutched in his fidgeting hands where it belonged. Harry couldn’t be trusted to pick. He always chose something that made Louis cry and he wasn’t ready to be sad on top of everything else. “Maybe we should recreate the dance again.”

Harry wrinkled his nose, his cheek dimpling when he smiled. “Absolutely not.”

“When did you become so old and boring? What is this? Are you scared that I’ll show you up because you don’t remember the steps anymore?” Louis dumped the remote on the cushions and turned to Harry, inspecting him. “Or have you been replaced by a pod person? Should I be worried you’re stealing my socks at night?”

His cheeks flushed as soon as he said it, the wool of the stolen sweater suddenly heavy on his frame.

Harry stretched out his limbs lazily and smiled, eyeing Louis right back. “I’m not the clothes thief in this house. That one’s all on you.”

Louis flushed harder and looked away, snatching the remote and stabbing the buttons so he could finally put _Grease_ on. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an upstanding citizen. Theft is wrong.”

Then Harry’s fingers were pulling on the sleeve of Louis’ sweater, playing with the fabric wordlessly.

“Not my fault you keep leaving your clothes lying about everywhere. It’s rude to be so messy, if you ask me,” Louis said, shuffling out of Harry’s reach. “Besides, this flat is just as mine is it’s yours so anything found in it also belongs to me. It’s law, look it up.”

“Oh really?” Harry drawled out, the heat of his body so close Louis could feel it sinking into his own skin, the cushions dipping under Harry’s weight right next to Louis. He fought the pull of gravity drawing him into Harry’s side.

“Well, it’s not like you don’t have more clothes than you know what to do with,” Louis said, defensive no matter how casual and unbothered he’d wanted to sound. 

“So do you though.”

The heat of his embarrassment spread all the way down to his chest, burning. “You said you didn’t mind.”

Harry’s knuckles brushed over Louis’ cheek so unexpectedly it made him jolt in his seat and meet Harry’s eyes.

Harry let his hand drop between them. “I don’t. I was just wondering why. At least take the clean stuff. I won’t mind you digging through my closet.”

“Might get lost in there.”

This was it, wasn’t it? Funny how Louis had never expected Harry to catch on, to realize Louis had been stealing stuff that had already been worn. Borrowing each other’s stuff was one thing. This was just… _weird._

He curled his shaking hands into the sleeves and looked away, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. The urge to flee was almost strong enough to propel him off the couch and into his room where he’d stay locked up for years to come. Who needed food? Not Louis. He was about to die anyway.

“Lou—”

“No,” he said, a shaky breath rattling in his chest. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what? I wasn’t,” Harry fell quiet. “It’s not a big deal, I’m not mad or anything, I just—”

“The flick’s on. We should watch it.” Louis stared stubbornly ahead at the animated opening credits, self-conscious as he brushed his fringe off with trembling fingers, feeling as though every part of him was on a harshly lit up display.

“And you said I’m the one who doesn’t talk to you.”

Louis clenched his jaw, hard. “I don’t even know why you want to talk about this. It’s _not_ a big deal. Sometimes I take your stuff, I’m sorry. If you mind it, I’ll stop. Here I’ll,” he grabbed the hem of the sweater and starting yanking it upwards until he felt Harry’s hands grabbing his, turning it into a struggle.

“Louis, don’t be stupid, that’s not what I said—”

Huff. 

“So I’m stupid now too? A stupid thief? Fine!” He tried to shake Harry off but he wouldn’t budge, his hands like iron vice clamped down on Louis’ wrists. Louis pulled hard and kicked out at Harry’s thigh, both of them toppling over with Louis on his back, crushed under Harry’s weight. “Get off me.”

“No.”

“Harry, I swear if you don’t—”

Harry’s hair fell into Louis’ face, the strands ticklish and getting into his mouth, hands tight around Louis’ wrists, holding him down. Harry’s pelvis pressed flush against his, his thighs spread open around Harry’s hips.

He panicked, struggling for a whole new reason altogether. Too close, too fucking close. 

His every muscle strained with the effort, Harry’s breath puffing against his throat, Harry’s body firm and heavy and providing heat and _friction._

“Harry, get the fuck off,” Louis said quietly, already on the brink of losing control of his own body.

“Will you tell me what’s going on with you if I do?” Harry asked but was already lifting up on his knees, loosening his hold on Louis’ wrists. 

In the background, John Travolta nattered on but all Louis could focus on was Harry sitting in between his thighs with pink cheeks and curls tumbling in messy disarray around his face.

“No,” Louis said because he’d rather swallow a jar of nails than talk about loving Harry so much wearing his clothes made him feel closer to Harry when he wasn’t in Louis’ space. It was a poor substitute, but he’d never claimed to be rational. “Because there’s nothing going on with me.”

He planted his foot in the centre of Harry’s chest to push him away but Harry just took a hold of it, stroking the jut of Louis’ ankle with gentle fingers. It was embarrassing how quickly it made Louis fall back into the cushions.

“Why do you always have to fight me?” Harry asked.

“Just because you’re bigger than me doesn’t mean I’ll just roll over and take it.”

Harry blinked, a smile curling his lips.

“That’s not what I meant,” Louis said, his skin radiating so much heat he didn’t need a mirror to know he’d turned bright red. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything. That was you, jumping to conclusions.” Harry’s fingers slid over Louis’ ankle, silky smooth.

“You forget I know you and your filthy ways, Styles.” The clothes were starting to feel like too much, weighing him down and trapping his heat. His fingers dug into the cushions.

“When have I ever been filthy?” Harry asked, arching his eyebrow in an insolent expression as he gripped Louis’ foot and lifted it to his shoulder. Louis’ thigh strained with the stretch, his blood pulsing down to his belly the second Harry’s lips brushed over his bare skin.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, breathless and unable to move.

“Kissing your ankle,” Harry explained calmly, his other hand smoothing down Louis’ calf, pushing the joggers down to Louis’ knee as he kissed the arch of his ankle again.

“That’s, um…” Words. Louis could form some. He knew he could.

“Gross?” Harry offered with a cheeky smile, parting his obscene lips to press an open-mouthed kiss to Louis’ skin, teeth nipping.

“Fuck you, I’ve showered,” Louis breathed out, words catching on their way out. “And if I’m gross, then you’re even more so for doing this.”

Whatever Harry was playing at, Louis hoped he’d get bored soon and laugh it off before Louis started tenting his joggers. His whole body was already coiled tight, desperately trying to hold back.

“Well, you did say I was filthy, so…” Harry’s fingers dipped beneath the fabric of Louis’ joggers, caressing his calf up to his knee with a slow drag of his hand, fingertips grazing the back of Louis’ knee. 

Too much. Too sensitive.

“I’m going to tell everyone you have a foot fetish.” Louis barely heard Harry’s laugh past his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

“I’m going to tell everyone you don’t mind.” He yanked Louis’ other foot up to his chest, the sudden motion dragging Louis’s bum over the cushions, the soft sweater rucking up to his waist. He pulled the hem back down to cover himself up, self-conscious and off balance.

“Who says I don’t?” he managed, his voice too husky even to his own ears.

Harry kissed Louis’ other ankle, his mouth soft and wet, eyes slitted. “I mean, you haven’t kicked me in the face yet.”

“Well, now that you reminded me—”

Harry gripped Louis’ ankle tight and bit down. The press of his teeth was light, but it still made Louis jerk, and the sudden movement startled Harry into slackening his hold. Louis wriggled out in a desperate attempt to roll away before Harry noticed that Louis was getting hard.

He’d just forgotten he was on the sofa.

His bum collided with the floor painfully, his hip throbbing. “Fuck.”

Harry peered down at him from the couch, brows creased with concern even though his nostrils were flaring. Louis knew for a fact that meant Harry was holding back a laugh at Louis’ expense.

“You little fucker, I hate you,” Louis moaned, curling up, grateful the shock of the impact made the whole erection situation subside to a manageable level. 

“Not my fault you flung yourself off the sofa,” Harry said.

It actually was, in Louis’ humble opinion.

“Help me.”

“No,” Harry said and reclined back into the cushions, claiming the remote. Over Louis’ dead body.

“If you put on something sad, I’ll chuck all the pineapple off your pizza. Even though I’d actually be doing you a favour.”

“Well, pizza’s still not here so,” Harry did just that, with a smug smile. “I haven’t seen _Steel Magnolias_ in ages.”

Louis could never resist a challenge and Harry knew that damn well. “You’ve grown too cheeky.”

Harry was already grinning when Louis pounced on him from the floor, knees knocking together and elbows jabbing into each other’s sides as Louis struggled to wrestle the remote out of Harry’s hand. By the time his brain caught up and realized he was pressed against Harry’s firm, heaving body, it was too late.

Harry relaxed under him as though Louis wasn’t even a threat. As though he wasn’t aware how much Louis liked to win. His dimple was close enough to kiss, his thigh pushed up in between Louis’, an insistent feverish pressure that made Louis’ breath stutter, begging him to bear down and _grind._

No, no, nope.

Louis kneed up and straddled Harry’s narrow hips instead, fingers splayed over Harry’s chest to keep his balance, to keep his weight away from Harry’s crotch. It took more willpower than it should have. “Give me the remote.”

Harry stretched out his arm as far above his head as he could and smiled lazily. “No.”

“I will tickle you.” Louis dragged his fingers over Harry’s flank in warning, fitting his fingers in between the dents of Harry’s ribs. The white fabric of Harry’s well-worn T-shirt was nearly translucent, sheer enough for Louis to make out the vague outline of his tattoos and the dusky pink of his nipples. He was obscene.

“You can try,” Harry said, his free hand idly landing on Louis’ thigh. Casual. As though Louis couldn’t feel the imprint of it burning through the fabric, imagining the way it would glide over his bare skin.

“Harry.”

“Yes, Lou.” Harry’s hand inched higher, fingers running over the creases of Louis’ joggers until they reached the waistband. He pulled and let it snap back against Louis’ hip. “You’re all talk, no action.”

Louis jumped, scolded himself for it instantly, his thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself up. “Well, your T-shirt has holes in it, so… Fuck off.”

“Does it?” Harry asked, unbothered. The pads of his fingertips found the dip of Louis’ lower back. He wanted to tell Harry to stop but he had no excuse for the inevitable ‘why’. 

He did the only thing he could. Lightening quick, he pinched Harry’s nipple and twisted.

“Fuck,” Harry ground out, his fingers digging into Louis’ flesh, legs bending at the knees behind Louis, nudging him forward. He caught himself with his palms on Harry’s chest, uncomfortably thickening in his pants.

“You deserved that,” Louis said shakily, looking away from the furrowed brows and parted mouth, telling himself it wouldn’t be the main feature of his dirty daydreams for days to come.

Harry stayed silent, still clutching at Louis.

And then Louis did the worst thing he could have possibly done. 

He sat back.

His gaze snapped to Harry’s, eyes hazy and halfway shut, tongue darting out to wet his pink lips. His heart raced under Louis’ hand, the background noise growing distant.

Harry was hard under his bum.

“I’m sorr—” Louis stopped himself, didn’t want to lie. Wanted to push his hips back and forth until Harry was gripping him hard enough to leave bruises. Wanted to tear Harry’s poor excuse of a T-shirt off and pinch and lick and suck Harry’s nipples until he cried because it was too much.

Harry looked away, his hand no longer touching Louis at all.

Louis felt his heart seize in his chest and lifted off, his heart trapped somewhere in his throat. “I didn’t know you’d—”

“Where,” Harry said roughly, cleared his throat, “are you going?”

“Um—” His gaze landed on the remote dropped above Harry’s head. “Just claiming what’s mine, aren’t I?”

He strained forward to grab it, playing along. If the years spent in such close quarters had taught him anything, it was to pretend nothing had happened. Even if every part of him wanted to ask how much longer they’d keep playing this game.

“No,” Harry said and wound his arm around Louis’ waist to pull him down. Before he could wriggle out, they were pressed close with no room to spare and Harry’s breath was warm on his chin.

The remote hit the floor with a clatter.

“What are you doing?”

“What are _we_ doing?” Harry shot back, something about his expression desperate. Pleading. “Lou, what is… can we stop?”

“Stop what?” Louis asked quietly, wondering if Harry could feel his heart struggling to beat out of his chest.

“This,” Harry said, arching off the couch to crudely tell Louis exactly what he meant. “Louis, I… I can tell you—”

“I can’t fucking help it,” Louis said through gritted teeth, shaking, hyper aware of Harry’s hand shifting lower, low enough for his pinky to press into the curve of Louis’ bum. “You’re… and we’ve always…”

Harry’s burst of a laugh hit Louis’ jaw. There wasn’t much humour in it. It was Harry’s nervous laugh and Louis hated himself for knowing it, for being able to tell even though he’d looked away.

“It’s not funny,” Louis still said, his mind muddy. Harry’s hard length was digging into the crease of his hip, just an inch away from Louis’ own.

“You always turn it into a joke. Every single time. What am I supposed to think?”

Louis froze, his nose full of Harry’s scent. It made it hard to think. “I’m not the only one. It’s not like I… I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable, like—”

“Louis, I just… can you look at me?”

Louis propped himself up with one hand and regarded Harry’s face, his curly hair messily spilling over the cushions, his bitten lips and vulnerable eyes. Louis’ ribs felt bruised from the way his heart wouldn’t stop slamming against them.

“I love you.”

Louis didn’t realize he’d said it until the last syllable slipped off his tongue and Harry stiffened. He couldn’t lie. Couldn’t take it back.

“I know you do,” Harry said cautiously, and no. Louis couldn’t stand to take the easy way out. Not this time.

He opened his mouth, shaking—

His phone rang.

Louis blinked, sick to his stomach and the bloody phone _just wouldn’t stop ringing._

“I think it’s,” Harry said quietly, “the pizza.”

“Then I guess I should get that,” Louis said with a voice that didn’t feel like his own, his limbs laden when he finally managed to regain his balance and find his footing. His body felt cold where it was no longer touching Harry’s.

He didn’t even care what he looked like to the bloke bringing in the pizza, what he thought of Louis’ ruffled hair and whether he noticed Louis was still hard in his joggers, his face sallow.

He paid mechanically, tipped well and closed the door.

Even with the _Grease_ still going on, the silence was deafening.

Unlike any other time, he couldn’t bring himself to make fun of Harry’s horrid taste in toppings, so he just stood there, barefoot with a stack of boxes in his arms and eyes that wouldn’t stop stinging.

“Lou?” Harry asked as he approached him, slow and steady, like one would a spooked animal. “Let me get that.”

“I fucking love you, Harry.”

Harry paused, wide-eyed and so, so young.

“I know you know, and I know you love me too, but… I’m like, it’s _more_ , you know? Always has been. Even though you fucking love pineapple and you buy all those stupid hats—”

“My hats are not stupid—”

“Shut the fuck up, I might throw up if I don’t… just let me…” Louis took a deep breath, let it out. It was hard to speak past the knot in his throat but he’d always been stubborn. “I feel like we’ve been distant and you were right too, you know. I did pull away. And I held back. It’s just… your sweaters smell like you and I fucking miss you and I _want too much_ and,” he dropped his gaze down to the red pizza logo on the box, “I’ve no clue what I’m trying to say here. Just… sometimes I wish we could have been more and lately it’s hard to be around you when I know there’s got to be a reason we never have, that we’re not the way we used to be and it’s… a fucking mess.”

“Is that what you haven’t been telling me?” Harry asked, took a step closer. His toes were quirky and if Louis squinted it looked like Harry had six of them, and Louis loved that too. What was wrong with him? “Lou, you could have just—”

“What? Just said it? Are you shitting me? I’m genuinely going to vomit right now. Or cry, or both.” The funny thing was, he wasn’t even kidding. His stomach lurched, his skin growing clammy with nerves.

He laughed. It rang uncomfortably high. Strained.

This thing between them had always been fragile, just waiting for one of them to tip over, to point out the big elephant in the room and say, “there it is”. Louis didn’t understand how it’d taken them this long to get here. Maybe because for the first time in a long time, they were completely, utterly alone, with no one to act as a buffer. Maybe because freedom was so close Louis could see the light at the end of the tunnel and he was no longer looking at the prospect of years spent in secrecy and lies.

The tour was over, the contract would be too, soon.

They’d have nothing to lose, right?

His knees shook.

“I don’t know why,” Harry said, taking the boxes out of Louis’ arms and putting them down on the floor. “I don’t know why we’ve never… you know. I’ve asked myself the same thing so many times. It was like this… unspoken thing, because of the band and the whole mess and… you’ve always been the one to keep us together and I didn’t want to add onto your shoulders—”

“Well, I’ve failed at that too, haven’t I?”

Harry’s hands cupped his face, his mouth a terse line. “You haven’t. There’s nothing you could have done, you know. We all knew it would happen. It’s better like this, for everyone.”

Louis snorted, pulled at the hem of his borrowed sweater. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I hate it.”

“It’ll be different. Better. And we’re… we’ll have time off next year too, and I thought,” Harry’s thumbs stroked gently over Louis’ cheeks, his body so close Louis felt the heat of it, “what if we… what if we tried? You and I? I’ve been thinking about it but I was so bloody scared to tell you anything, because… because what if you never wanted to, you know?”

“Harry, don’t be daft—”

“I didn’t _know_. And like, Nick—”

Louis scoffed, his hands sweaty.

“No, listen. Last night, he… like, he knows how I feel about you and stuff and it was stupid, what he sent you. Those texts, he was just trying to make me do something about it.”

“I wanked to those,” Louis said, refused to look above Harry’s mouth dropping open in surprise, wasn’t sure he wanted to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Fuck, Louis.”

“If you ever tell Nick, you’re dead to me.”

Harry pulled him in, his laugh a little breathless as he nosed at Louis’ cheek. His T-shirt was soft under Louis’ careful hands. 

“This might be the best blackmail material I have on you. And I caught you dancing naked with a hoover.”

“Well, I’m not ashamed of that, so that’s not even blackmail.”

“I love you,” Harry whispered, leaning in until his breath was warm on Louis’ lips. “I _love_ you.”

“Because I dance naked with appliances?” Louis asked, shaky, fisting the back of Harry’s T-shirt.

“Yes, that’s a part of it.” He rubbed his nose against Louis’, their lips just barely brushing. Louis’ toes curled into the floor, his eyes long closed. He’d kill Harry for being a tease, if the anticipation didn’t kill him first.

“What are we doing? What’s going to happen?” Louis asked.

“Can we just… be us? Just _be_?” Harry whispered, his chest expanding on a deep breath. “I’ve wanted this for long. Wanted to kiss you properly for so long. Can I?”

“If you don’t,” Louis swallowed hard, licked his lips nervously, “I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Can’t have that.” Harry caressed Louis’ cheek with his thumb. 

His lips were soft and plush as he pressed a careful kiss to Louis’ bottom lip, one and then another and another until Louis opened his mouth and sighed.

Harry made a deep sound in the back of his throat and tilted Louis’ head back, slotting their mouths together properly in a wet, languid kiss that left Louis dizzy. He hugged Harry close, their bodies flush from chest to knees, and if he had to go up on his tippytoes for the perfect fit, Harry didn’t have to know.

Harry smiled into the kiss, wrapped his arms around Louis’ shoulders the way he’d used to when they were sixteen and eighteen and feeling homesick in a house full of strangers. Louis could drown in it, the familiar comfort of Harry’s embrace, the wet pressure of Harry’s mouth moving over his, the feeling of firm muscles shifting under his palms as they parted to pull in ragged breaths.

It didn’t feel like the whole world had careened off its axis. Just that it had finally started to spin in the right direction.

“Are you standing on your tippy-toes?” Harry asked, voice rough as he kissed the corner of Louis’ mouth.

He loved how warm Harry was, how he held him. How close he felt to him right now.

“No.” He nipped at Harry’s bottom lip, tugged at it with his teeth. “Lies. Fuck, this is… it’s better than I thought it would be.”

“I know. Can I… again? Please.”

“Your lips are soft,” Louis said, dumb with it, his brain useless. He counted on Harry reading in between the lines. _Bloody get in here._

Harry kissed him, deeper this time, but still slow. Like they had all the time in the world and he didn’t want to miss a single nuance. His skin was as feverish as Louis felt, burning under Louis’ greedy fingertips when he slipped them past the thin fabric of Harry’s T-shirt.

Louis licked the bow of those soft lips, suckled at the upper one, wondering how swollen and red he could make it. The slick sound of their lips meeting and parting, the thrill of Harry’s tongue slipping over his made Louis clutch at Harry harder, had him lightly scratch down Harry’s back with blunt fingernails. Harry shivered, dragging in an unsteady breath when Louis pulled away to trail kisses up to Harry’s ear.

“You’re quite decent at this kissing thing,” Louis whispered, flicking Harry’s earlobe with his tongue.

Harry keened and tilted his head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. Louis followed the line of it with parted lips, sucking lightly. 

“You’re, um… all right. You could use a little practice.”

Louis bit down with sharp teeth, let his hand drift lower and lower until he was squeezing Harry’s firm bum. “Could I now?”

“Yeah, got to,” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “keep at it. Practice makes perfect.”

Louis had always thought Harry would be responsive, but he’d never thought he’d feel him tremble in his arms, sucking in gulps of breath when Louis tugged him close by his bum and ground their hips together.

“Can we,” Harry breathed out, “Bedroom.”

For a second, Louis spared a thought to the pizza boxes on the ground. In the end, it wasn’t a difficult choice to make. “Mine’s closer.”

“I want to eat pineapple off your thighs,” Harry said suddenly, his gaze trained on the pizza.

Louis laughed and held onto Harry’s hips to keep himself upright, unable to stop even with Harry kissing all over his grinning mouth.

“Is that a yes?”

“No!” Louis said, squeezed the soft fleshy parts above Harry’s hips he’d always wanted to suck bruises into. The thought that he could now – as they stumbled backwards towards his bedroom – was staggering.

“Can I carry you?” Harry slowed down, let his hands trail down the length of Louis’ arms until their fingers tangled together, fitting perfectly.

“Why?” Louis asked, not entirely trusting Harry’s ability to stay upright. “Is it a ploy to touch my bum?”

Harry pulled him close and hid his face in Louis’ neck. “Yeah.”

“Well, all right then. Come on.” He let go of Harry’s hands and steadied himself on Harry’s shoulders – Christ, just how broad were they – then hopped up, locking his thighs around Harry’s waist.

Harry groaned, and Louis was pretty certain it wasn’t because of his weight.

Harry’s hands found his bum and squeezed, lashes fluttering over his half-lidded eyes. The deep moan that rumbled off his chest was incredibly unfair.

“Don’t drop me,” Louis warned him, thighs straining as he heaved himself higher, nose buried in Harry’s soft hair. He smelled like an early morning right after the storm, like rain clinging to petals.

“What if I do?” Harry asked, every step jolting Louis up and down, his cock hard against Harry’s belly. He was going out of his mind, couldn’t help but rub against Harry like a cat in heat.

“Why aren’t we there yet?” He bit Harry’s earlobe, kissed the sensitive spot right behind it.

Harry stumbled forward, fingertips digging into Louis’ bum cheeks. “Need you, Lou. Don’t care how. I’ll… please.”

They hadn’t even stripped yet and Louis was already wet at the tip.

“How long have you wanted me like this?” he asked as Harry slammed the door to Louis’ bedroom open with the flat of his palm and crossed the threshold. The sun was still up, slowly sinking towards the horizon. The golden light filtering in through the windows under the ceiling were slowly turning orange.

“Don’t know.” Harry’s cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide. “Ages. Would always get hard when you held me.”

“Even with the other boys around?” He nosed at Harry’s temple, circling his hips because he couldn’t bloody help it. “On the tour bus and in the dressing room?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out and dropped him on the mattress. It bounced under Louis’ weight, his legs spread open around Harry’s hips. “Christ, look at you.”

“A religious experience, I know.” Louis trailed his gaze up from the hard line of Harry’s cock, to the waistband of his grey joggers slung obscenely low, revealing dark brown hair. The last of sunlight washed over his chest like molten gold. Louis’ mouth watered. “Let me suck you.”

Harry stepped in closer, pushed his hand beneath Louis’ sweater, fingers splayed, skin on skin. They nearly covered the whole expanse of his belly, thumb and pinkie nearly touching the curve of Louis’ waist on either side.

“You can’t just say that. I’m—” Harry dragged his hand lower, fingertips tickling the strip of skin above Louis’ joggers, quivering under the touch. His palm was burning Louis even over the fabric. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Another drop of precome pulsed out.

Embarrassed about getting so wet so soon, Louis hooked his thighs behind Harry’s to pull him closer. “You’re what?”

“I don’t think I’ll last.”

“You will.” Louis arched his back into Harry’s touch, desperate for Harry to do something, anything. “If I tell you to.”

Harry palmed him over the joggers, fingers curved around Louis’ girth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to muffle a moan. As though he was the one with a hand on his cock, massaging him agonizingly slowly.

Louis’ knuckles hurt with how hard he was fisting the sheets, the fabric of his clothes unbearably hot over his feverish skin.

“You’re getting so wet,” Harry mumbled, grinding his hips against the edge of the mattress as though he wasn’t even aware of it, his thumb rubbing over the wet spot over the tip of Louis’ cock, pressing into the slit through the thick fabric.

“Ah,” Louis bucked his hips, dropped his head back against the mattress when Harry suddenly bent over and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his belly. “I was supposed to…”

“Hm?” Harry hummed, leaving a trail of chaste kisses on every bare patch of skin he could find, all the way around Louis’ bellybutton, nuzzling his stomach.

“Did you just,” he buried his fingers in Harry’s hair, scratched lightly. Harry’s purr made him break into goosebumps, “kiss a heart… around my bellybutton?”

“Maybe.” Another kiss, Harry’s lips and nose dragging over the trail of dark hair disappearing below the waistband of Louis’ joggers, inhaling him like an animal. Louis’ cock jerked towards the heat of Harry’s mouth. “It’s a cute bellybutton. Deserves all the love.”

“I hate you.”

It would have had more effect if Harry hadn’t closed his lips around Louis’ leaking tip through the fabric and sucked.

“Fuck, so good.”

Strong hands caught Louis’ hips then flipped him over.

“What are you doing?” he panted out, trying to rise up on his elbows.

“Please, let me just,” the fabric of his joggers was carefully peeled down right below the curve of his ass, reverent hands touching his waist, smoothing down to the dip of his lower back. “Christ, Louis. Look at you.”

“And you said,” he laughed into the sheets, “that all that junk food was bad for us.”

“I want to make love to this bum every day for the rest of my life.” Harry thumbed at the dimples at the base of Louis’ spine, wet lips pressing to skin in between. “Please eat as many burgers as you want.”

Louis swayed his hips from side to side, helplessly pinned to the mattress like this with his legs spread and no leverage to be found. The wool of the sweater itched on his skin, his cock burning hotter and hotter with every shift of his hips against the mattress, with every caress of Harry’s hands and mouth.

“Are you just going to look at it or—”

Harry sank his teeth into the left cheek and sucked.

Louis felt a bead of sweat slink down his spine, breath catching in his chest.

“What do you like?” Harry asked, hands drifting lower until he was cupping Louis’ hips, thumbs pressing into the curve of his bum. “I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

Louis bit down on his forearm and whined, flushing bright red.

Harry kept kissing all over his bum, thumbs slowly spreading Louis open. The room was loud with the echoes of their quick breaths, with the smacking sound of Harry’s lips leaving wet bruises over Louis’ skin.

“Wait,” Louis rasped out just as Harry kissed too close to where he’d spread Louis open. Too much, too soon. “Want to get my mouth on you too. Don’t be selfish.”

Harry bit down on his cheek, fingertips digging just a little bit harder before he pulled away, the heat of his hands lingering as though he couldn’t quite make himself leave.

Louis rolled over, embarrassed to look down and see the wet patch at the front of his joggers. “Kiss me.”

Harry kneed up on the bed, curls messy around his flushed face, broad shoulders shifting under his T-shirt as he grabbed Louis around the waist and hoisted him higher, their breath mingling.

Their open mouths met and sucked, heads tilting to the side as they swallowed each other’s gasps. Louis scratched down Harry’s back, blindly grabbing the hem of the T-shirt and yanking upwards. They broke apart on a ragged breath, the T-shirt flying towards the floor before their lips slotted together again.

The sheets were turning warm from the heat of his body, creasing under his bare ass with every sensual roll of Harry’s hips against his, the waistband at the front caught on the straining tip of his cock. He was burning up.

“Off,” he said, leaning up to lick over Harry’s kiss-swollen mouth, already parted in invitation for more. “Clothes.”

Harry growled and sucked Louis’ tongue into his mouth, hand smoothing up Louis’ side, bringing the fabric of the sweater up with it.

“Louis,” he pleaded, dragging his open mouth down Louis’ throat, panting. “Need you.”

They tugged the sweater up over his head and discarded it on the side, the cross of Harry’s necklace pooling cold in the hollow of Louis’ throat. They kissed, short and sweet, unwilling to part.

“On your back,” Louis said, short of breath as he hooked his leg around Harry’s and flipped them over. “Gonna blow you.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, breath hitching in his chest. He was beautiful, his hair spilling over the sheets, dark and glossy with specks of light catching in the curls. The dip between his pecs was damp with sweat, the taste of his skin like salty caramel when Louis licked his way down. Better than he’d ever imagined.

He kissed over Harry’s heart, felt the _thump-thump_ of it beating wildly right under his mouth, Harry’s nipple stiff and dark as he brushed his fingertips over it. “Is this okay?”

Harry blinked down at him, dazed, the laurels on his belly fluttering as Louis kissed his way down. “Yeah, Lou. More than okay.”

Louis smiled against the heated skin, smoothed his hands over every part of Harry he could reach - the jut of his collarbones, the firm swell of his pecs, the bumps of his ribs that made Harry breathe out a giggle, made him spread his legs open even more.

“Are you really going to,” Harry shivered, red lips parted around the words that wouldn’t come.

“Put you in my mouth?” Louis asked, hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled it down until Harry’s cock bobbed out, thick and flushed dark pink. “Fuck, look at you. Of course I am.”

Harry whined, lying there like a useless, squirming mess as Louis pulled his joggers clean off. His own were uncomfortably trapped below his bum but he couldn’t be bothered to sort it out, his hands too busy touching Harry everywhere.

“Wanted this for so long. Dreamed about it,” Harry said, voice rough.

Louis kneed up between his legs, stroking the tense thighs up and down until Harry somewhat relaxed. “I’m not like, a pro at this, you know. Just… just so you know.”

“I mean, I am big.”

Louis laughed, offered his hand up to Harry. “Stop bragging and lick.”

Harry caught his wrist and dragged his tongue up Louis’ palm, moaning, hips shifting as though he couldn’t wait to feel himself trapped in the heat of Louis’ mouth.

Louis was so hard it almost hurt. 

He closed his fist around the base of Harry’s cock, starved for the flutter of Harry’s lashes against his flushed cheeks, for his plush mouth parting open. Louis’ thumb wouldn’t meet the rest of his fingers even when he tightened his grip.

Harry trailed his own hand down his sweating torso down over the dark ink of his tattoos and then back up, Adam’s apple bobbing when he paused to rub his nipples. “You don’t have to. If it’s too much.”

Louis squeezed him tighter, dragging his fist up slowly, foreskin bunching up around the leaking head. “Do I look like a bloody quitter to you, love?”

Harry rocked his hips into Louis’ fist, toes curled into the sheets. “No.”

“Good boy. Come on, show me what you want,” Louis said, motionless, just watching as Harry worked himself up, his heels digging into the mattress as he pushed into Louis’ grip. More precome dribbled out. “Don’t come.”

Harry closed his eyes, his expression pained. “Won’t.”

“You are good, aren’t you? So good for me.” Louis said in awe, greedily watching Harry lying under him spread open and vulnerable, abs clenching with every upward thrust of his hips, balls drawing up tight against his body.

Louis swept his thumb over the tip, loosened his hold and slowly started to twist around Harry from base to tip. He licked his lips.

Their eyes met in the orange glow of the sunset, pupils blown wide.

“Please,” Harry said, eyes glassy and flush spreading all the way down to his chest when Louis finally bent over, lips hovering over the wet tip.

“Hold still.” He licked out, catching the salty bead on his tongue.

_MoreMoreMore._

He’d always liked this more than he probably should have, got off on the silky smooth skin, the hot weight of it on his tongue. The taste.

He closed his eyes and sank down, mouth stretched to the limit around Harry’s girth. A burst of precome hit his tongue. He moaned around it and sucked, teasing the underside with his tongue, fingers squeezing tight around the base.

If Harry said anything, Louis couldn’t hear it over the roar of his own blood in his ears, the slurping of his mouth as he sucked up then sank back down, the tip teasing the back of his tongue. His spit dribbled over his knuckles.

His nose was filled with Harry’s scent, heart racing at the way Harry’s hand gently cradled the back of his neck, trembling lightly. Maybe he should feel self-conscious about the way it made him moan and whimper to taste Harry on his tongue like this, jaw aching with the stretch of it. He didn’t. Too far gone to think at all, hungry for it. He bobbed up and down, up and down, still couldn’t meet his knuckles.

“Lou, Lou, Lou, fuck—” Harry’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulled. “Need to, ah… wait.”

Louis pulled off with a pop, a string of spit wet on his chin, his hand picking up the slack. “I’m not done yet.”

His voice sounded rough even to his own ears.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Harry asked, his hair a tangled mess from Louis’ fingers and the way he must have squirmed against the sheets.

“Afraid you can’t last?”

Harry whined.

Louis bit his inner thigh, sucking a bruise into the golden flesh, pressing Harry’s cock to his belly. “Like it when I tease you?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you can handle giving it to me?”

Harry’s cock jerked, spilling more precome on his belly.

“Is that a yes?”

“Want you,” Harry said quietly, looking overwhelmed, his cock wet and messy, balls drawn tight.

“Know you do,” Louis soothed, pressing lingering kisses into Harry’s inner thighs, rubbing his scruffy cheek against the soft, fuzzy skin. It must have prickled but Harry didn’t complain. “Might need more prep to take you though. Kind of, eh… you know. Not used to this.”

“When was the last time you…” Harry trailed off, stroking Louis’ hair away from his face.

“With like, um… a dildo?”

“Christ, Louis. If you want me to last—”

“You did ask.” He kissed his way up to the V of Harry’s hips and nuzzled the laurels. “It’s been at least a week, I think. Haven’t ever… with anyone. Other than that.”

“Lou,” Harry pulled him up his body. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

“You’d better,” he tucked his arms around Harry’s naked body and hugged him close. Somehow, even with their bodies pressed so close, skin on naked skin, it felt more intimate than sexual. “If not, I’ll never let you do my laundry ever again.”

Harry ran his fingertips lightly up and down Louis’ spine, the touch soothing. “I love doing laundry.”

“I know you do,” he kissed Harry’s neck, shivering when Harry cupped his bum, “You weirdo.”

“Speaking of weirdoes,” Harry squeezed his bum, “why do you still have your bloody joggers on? This is a strict no clothes zone.”

“Your bed?” Louis asked but together they pushed his joggers off, kicked them off with impatient feet. “Dream team!”

Harry leaned up to kiss his grinning mouth. “No just my bed. This whole house. From now on.”

“What do you mean from now on?” He bit Harry’s bottom lip, soothed it with a light kiss. “The amount of times you’ve walked around anywhere naked is less rare than you clothed.”

Harry shifted his legs further apart so Louis lay cradled in between, his cock leaking in the dent of Harry’s hip. His hips started to move without his permission.

“How did that make you feel?” Harry asked, eyes dark as he squeezed Louis’ bum.

“Like I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you,” he mumbled into Harry’s neck honestly, kissing over the rabbiting pulse point. “Or push you down on the couch and ride you hard.”

Harry groaned, deep and throaty, his fingertips inching towards Louis’ crack. “Want both. All of it. Everything feels so good with you.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the length of Harry’s neck, up to his mouth. His lips felt full and swollen, hot under Louis’. They parted under Louis’ tongue.

They kissed, slow and deep and wet, hips moving together. Harry’s middle finger pushed in between Louis’ cheeks, rubbing lightly over his hole, the tip barely pressing in.

Louis broke the kiss on a gasp, hid his face in the crook of Harry’s shoulder. Their torsos were slick with sweat, the heat almost unbearable.

“You’ll go slow, won’t you?” Louis asked, heart hammering.

“As slow as you need,” Harry promised, equally quiet, pressing a kiss to Louis’ temple, his hands gentle as he caressed Louis from his bum up to the wings of his shoulder blades. 

Outside, the sun was hanging low in the sky, bathing the room in hues of orange. Louis felt fire licking down his spine when Harry nudged him up until they were both up on their knees and kissed him.

“Lube’s in the top drawer,” Louis said in between kisses, feeling like he’d burn up if Harry didn’t hurry the fuck up. Harry let go and reached for the nightstand. “Come on.”

“Got it!” He dropped it and tackled Louis to the mattress, wrestling him onto his back. They giggled into each other’s mouths breathlessly, hands roaming over sensitive skin.

“Want it on your belly or your back? When I prep you, I mean.”

Louis pinched Harry's bum. “I can do it myself, you know. More efficient.”

“I don’t want efficient,” Harry said, brows drawn together as he sat up between Louis’ legs, stroking down Louis’ thighs. “Want to finger you until you beg me for it.”

Louis swallowed hard, his cock giving a kick. “In your dreams.”

Harry smiled, slow and lazy, running his knuckles over Louis’ cock, from base to the wet tip. “You have no idea.”

“Bastard,” Louis arched his back, attempted a glare and failed. “Come on, do it. Or I’ll do it myself.”

He reached for the lube but Harry slapped his hand aside just like Louis knew he would. He tried to hold back his victorious smile.

“You’re not clever,” Harry told him and before Louis could even open his mouth, he was manhandled onto his belly.

He was glad Harry didn’t see just how hot that made him. He was going to soak through the sheets.

Damp lips touched the middle of his back, wet fingers pushing between his cheeks and circling his rim.

Louis pulled a pillow under his head and rubbed his cheek over it, spreading his legs further apart. “Get on with it.”

“Shhh,” Harry said, half-laughing as he started to edge one finger in, rotating it. “This is the fun part.”

“Everything’s the fun part,” Louis mumbled, heat pooling in the pit of his belly, the base of his spine.

“It is, when it’s with you.” The finger sank in until the last knuckle, slick and so good. it didn't take long for Harry to accidentally brush over the spot that lit Louis up from the inside. His cock jerked.

“You’re a sap. I’m telling… everyone.”

Harry kissed down his spine, rubbing over the spot every once in a while in a way Louis couldn't anticipate. “You brought me flowers.”

Blood soared into Louis’ cheeks. He clutched the pillow to his face. “I’ll get you nicer ones, I promise.”

Another finger teased his rim before Harry pulled out and pushed in with two. More lube drizzled over the place where Harry was spreading him open, trickling down over his taint. Tickling him. He arched his back and pushed against Harry’s finger, unable to choke back the whine slipping out of his mouth.

“Like that?” Harry asked, his knuckles spreading him wider.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Louis dug his knees into the mattress, feeling open and wanton, his bum lifting up.

“Yeah, hang on. Lift up a bit,” Harry said, his other hand resting in the curve of Louis’ lower back. “Gonna put a pillow under your hips, okay? Make the angle better for you.”

Louis could barely see past the red haze of his arousal, so he just nodded and let Harry push a pillow under his hips. It was cool and soft against his cock, riling him up with the added friction even more. He rubbed against it, torn between grinding down and pushing against Harry’s fingers.

Harry kept scissoring him until Louis could feel sweat trickling down his spine. Then Harry added third finger. The stretch of it burned, the ache of it so good Louis teared up and had to bite down on the pillow. He was losing his grip.

“Harry, please,” he choked out, his cock dripping steadily now.

Harry leaned over until he was kissing the back of Louis’ neck, his curls tickling Louis’ shoulder blades. “Just a little more, yeah?”

Had he been more clear-headed, he’d have felt embarrassed about the way he whimpered, helplessly rocking back against Harry’s hand.

By the time Harry finally pulled his fingers out, Louis was shaking and the insides of his thighs were slick with lube.

The sound of Harry tearing the condom wrapper open made his skin break out in goosebumps all over. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck m—”

Harry growled and caught his hips, lifted him up on all fours. “Lou, fuck. I won’t last.”

“Not before I do,” Louis said, panting, his cock so hard it was straining up against his belly, bobbing and dribbling. “I’ll kill you.”

Harry laughed, his fingertips digging into Louis’ hips as he rubbed his cockhead against Louis’ rim.

Impatient, Louis reached behind himself, knocked off Harry’s hand and started pushing it in.

“Louis, Louis, oh god,” Harry’s hands were clutching him hard enough to leave bruises, the width of him stretching Louis to his limits. He keened, grabbing onto the headboard when Harry mounted him and pushed in even deeper.

“Go slow,” Louis told him, hanging his head, his lungs sore with how hard he was breathing.

Harry stopped, wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist as he hunched over him, mindlessly kissing over his back. “You’re so tight. So hot.”

A drop of sweat rolled down the length of Louis’ nose and splattered on the sheets below. His balls ached with how much he wanted to come, hanging heavy between his spread legs.

“Okay,” he breathed out, forced himself to relax, rocking back a bit. “You can… a bit more.”

Harry wriggled his hips from side to side, pushing in another inch. Louis’ elbows buckled.

“More,” he pleaded, his voice shot. “Fuck me.”

It felt like forever until Harry’s thighs met his, the base of his cock stretching Louis wide. Harry’s hands burned his skin, trailing fire down over his ribcage and chest, fingertips catching on his sensitive nipples. 

“Have to go slow,” Harry said and Louis didn’t know whether he was talking to him or just himself but it didn’t matter. His eyes rolled into the back of his head when Harry pulled out and fucked back in.

“Harder,” Louis said, slurring out the words, his legs shifting even wider apart until his inner thighs were burning with it. He arched his back and rocked back, the slap of their bodies loud and obscene. It filled up the entire room, their breaths ragged.

“I’m so close,” Harry said, his voice fucked out as he undulated his hips, stretching Louis impossibly wider. The ache of it was so good it almost brought him to tears.

Harry dragged his hand down from Louis’ chest to his belly, fingers curling around his cock.

Louis gasped and knocked his hand aside, toes curling so hard they almost cramped up. “Don’t. I’ll come. Don’t want to… not yet.”

“Christ,” Harry mumbled, fucking him fast and hard then slow and deep for long, dizzying minutes, alternating in between until Louis felt crazy with it, fisting the sheets. It made the bed rock so hard the frame of it whined in protest. 

“Want to ride you,” Louis gasped out, catching Harry’s hand on his belly, intertwining their fingers. Harry squeezed his hand and slowed down to deep thrusts, barely pulling out.

“What was that?”

“Want to,” Louis pulled in a breath, “ride you.”

Harry collapsed against his back, their thighs sticking together. “You’re gonna kill me.”

When he pulled out, Louis felt achingly empty, his hole clenching around nothing. He pushed Harry onto his back, hand sliding over naked, slick chest. Louis straddled him, his hand shaking with eagerness as he reached behind himself to hold Harry steady as he sank slowly down.

It took ages to bottom out, both of them short of breath and moaning by the time his bum met Harry’s hips.

They locked gazes through half-lidded eyes, speaking volumes without words. _I love you, need you. More._

Louis lifted up and screwed back down, his mouth dropping open.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, breathless, his gaze reverent as he caressed Louis’ straining thighs. He looked helpless and desperate, slowly bucking his hips up into Louis, hair messy and sticking to his skin. He was beautiful.

Louis hunched over, palms flat against the mattress by Harry’s shoulders as he rocked back and forth, fire burning in his belly. The outside world felt distant when Harry was watching him like that, like he’d been brought to his knees and could barely hold on.

Louis leaned down to kiss him, slowing down until he was slowly rising and falling on Harry’s thick cock, their open mouths brushing shakily.

“Love you,” Harry breathed into his mouth, kissing him slowly until the need for oxygen broke them apart.

“Love you too,” Louis echoed back, rubbing over Harry’s nipple until his back bowed, heels digging in. “Feels good?”

“I can’t breathe,” Harry said, laughing, eyes falling shut when Louis pinched his nipple and squeezed.

Louis felt his heart in his throat, beating wild. He grabbed Harry’s hands and pressed them into the mattress by his head, screwing down hard. His cock bobbed up and down with each twist of his hips, thighs burning with the effort.

Harry opened up his hands and Louis’ fingers fell in between his, folding together and locking tight.

The orange glow of the sunset slanted over Harry’s face, over the swollen curve of his mouth and half-lidded eyes, the little strand of wet hair sticking to his cheekbone.

Harry’s hips fucked up, pushing into him faster and harder. Louis seated himself on Harry’s cock fully and whined, fingers gripping Harry’s when he picked up the pace and started fucking him relentlessly.

His tip kept dragging over Louis’ spot on every downstroke and it felt like too much. He felt out of control, unable to do anything but take it, his muscles spasming with each shock of pleasure shooting down his spine.

“Louis, please,” Harry said, desperate, his hips losing rhythm as he blindly chased his release.

Louis felt it pool in his belly, growing hotter and tighter with each thrust, his eyes barely open. Harry rocked in once, twice, three times when Louis felt the pressure of it climb impossibly higher until it suddenly snapped loose, flooding him from the top of his head down to his toes, his vision blacking out.

He was barely aware of Harry grunting as he kept fucking into him, Louis’ own cock spurting all over Harry’s belly and chest. He sobbed, holding onto Harry’s hands, feeling like he might float off.

He collapsed on Harry’s chest, sticky and over sensitive to even the slightest brush of air when Harry bit his jaw, untangling their hands so he could grip Louis’ waist and push him down on his cock. He shook as he followed Louis over the edge, arms wrapping tightly around Louis’ middle to hug him close.

“Fuck,” Harry said, strained, breathless. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Louis agreed, unable to move. To even lift his head up. “Can’t.”

Harry shook his head, slowly pulling out, softening but still stretching Louis wide. “Neither.”

Louis’ cock gave a weak twitch. He shivered and nosed at Harry’s temple. He smelled like damp earth, like autumn outside their windows.

Louis breathed him in, too spent to feel ashamed. “I kept… stealing the stuff you’ve already worn because it smelled like you. And I missed you.”

Harry hugged him close. Louis didn’t even care that he must have dropped the condom off somewhere on the floor. They were both gross, the bed was gross. It didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, helping Louis stretch his legs out so he could lie more comfortably. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. It was weird.”

“No,” Harry said, pressing their flushed cheeks together. “Not weird. I missed you too, you know. When you’d… on stage too. Missed being close to you all the time. It will be different when we come back.”

“Sometimes I just,” Louis said, his voice loud in the silent room, “I just want to rest. For a while, you know? Just… not have to wait for the next thing on the list. No deadline.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, rubbing lazy circles into Louis’ back. “Maybe we could.”

“Do you think the pizza’s cold by now?”

Harry laughed, his cheek dimpling against Louis’. “Probably. We can pop it in the oven.”

“I hate reheated pizza,” Louis said, but he didn’t even sound like he’d meant it. He sounded like someone who had spent a week in a spa. He hadn’t felt like that in a long time. Content. Happy. Free.

“I love you,” Harry said, his legs shifting as he itched at his ankle with his foot. Louis let it jostle him and closed his eyes, exhaustion making his limbs floppy and useless. “And I’m glad… glad we pulled our heads out of our asses.”

Louis smiled, relaxed even more into Harry, too comfortable wrapped up in Harry’s arms. He never wanted to leave. “Do you regret not having done it earlier?”

The stretch of silence didn’t feel awkward or unwanted. It felt like coming full circle.

“No,” Harry said finally, stroking Louis’ back. “I think… I think that if we’d had, we would have taken it on and held strong, you know? But it doesn’t matter. We’d have always ended up here, no matter what.”

“You believe that?” Louis kind of did too, knew he’d have done anything and everything to keep Harry.

“I do.”

“I feel like we might have to, still. You know? Not everyone’s gonna… you know. It will be a thing.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, rolling them onto their sides. Harry looked at him, open and vulnerable. Louis felt the fierce urge to protect him, to make sure he was always all right. He always had.

“It’s just for us,” Harry added, nudging their noses together, kissing Louis soft and sweet. “Doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or says. Nothing they haven’t already said anyway.”

And it didn’t. It didn’t matter because Louis would do anything to keep this. Would hide the soft curve of Harry’s smile in the palms of his hands and keep safe everything that Harry was. What they had was just for him. _For them._

“Yeah, baby, we’re enough.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed I posted this on 04-20. Happy chicken and chili day, folks. *pew pew*
> 
> And most importantly, please look at this [beautiful photoset](http://donotdialnine.tumblr.com/post/143133534147/autumn-at-my-window-by-thecellardoor-summary-a) Maëlys made for me!!


End file.
